


to the sea, and to you

by drarryangels



Series: Drarry One-Shots [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Living by the ocean in a cottage, M/M, Melancholy, Ocean, being in love but not knowing how to say it, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:56:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drarryangels/pseuds/drarryangels
Summary: When the ocean roars, Draco sings. In the dark, against the water, in tandem with the open air. Harry is not even sure how he knows Draco is singing. It is something deep under his ribs that tells him, that sings back.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry One-Shots [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672888
Kudos: 18





	to the sea, and to you

When the ocean roars, Draco sings. His voice is lost to the waves and the wind, but his mouth is clear and his hair tangled around his ears. 

Harry does not know why he does it. Why he insists on running from the little house into the night with his mouth wide open and his unbuttoned shirt flying out behind him. He tries to race the wind, all the way to the cliff, and skids to a stop, nearly flying off the edge of it. Harry wonders, when the door slams behind Draco's heels, if Draco screams as he runs. If he is waiting for someone to hear him over the water. 

Harry follows, at a walk, until he sees pale white shoulders framed against the silhouette of crashing waves and dim moonlight. He touches his fingertips to Draco's spine and whispers that he hears him, if no one else can or will. _I hear you_. But the water is too loud, forever stealing the world's attention, and Draco never hears the words. 

It is then that Draco sings. In the dark, against the water, in tandem with the open air. Harry is not even sure how he knows Draco is singing. It is something deep under his ribs that tells him, that sings back. 

It does not happen often. 

Most nights, Draco is quiet and warm. Most nights, he turns down the covers and curls against Harry's back in the same way he's been doing since they were nineteen and still hurting. They are older now, and still hurting. But the hurt is quieter, and the warmth of the little house - deep in nowhere, astride the lines of the sea - is brighter. Harry says so to Draco one night, when they are both lying in bed and Draco is breathing deeply to feel his chest rise and fall against the blades of Harry's shoulders. 

"Don't you think?" Harry says. 

And Draco says, "No. I hurt as much as ever."

Harry is silent because, truly, what has made the hurt quieter is Draco. Draco's smile, his skin, his words, and the precious sensation of his hand in Harry's. So Harry holds the pinch close to his heart and says nothing. 

"The ocean drowns it out," Draco says, before rolling over and falling asleep. 

Harry does not sleep. He listens to the roaring crashes of the ocean against sand and shore and stone, and wishes desperately to be absolved from the ache in his chest. 

Draco runs the next night, and Harry does not follow him this time. He stays in the little house and hovers over the stove, turns the wooden ladle around the saucer of sweet apple cider, and lets the silence of the night and the distant water drown him. 

The wind is quiet, murmuring through the cracked window panels, and whispering to Harry to run. Run to Draco, run away, off the edge of the cliff, into his arms, back to London, back to warm skin, back, away, run, back, away. He does not listen, but continues to turn the wooden label in the cider. 

It is not long before Draco returns, his cheeks red and stung by salt and his hair tossed indelicately into his face. 

"Why didn't you come?" Draco asks. "You always come to the sea with me."

Harry shrugs and stares down at the simmering caramel liquid. "I did not think you wanted me there."

Draco is silent for a long moment, and Harry thinks he is still standing in the doorway with the whispering wind behind him until the front door clicks shut and warm hands fall to Harry's waist. "I always want you there. You are why I go."

Harry puts the ladle down and turns. "What do you mean?"

Draco's eyes search his, waiting for Harry to see the answer in his own. "I am singing, and the ocean is singing with me," Draco says. "But it is for you. I am always singing to you."

Harry stands there, Draco's hands on his hips, and waits. He does not understand. Does not understand what Draco wants, or why he is speaking to Harry in this way. 

"I do not want to sing when you are not there to hear me," Draco says. 

And then Harry does understand. Draco has been hearing him all along, even against the tiding shouts of the waves, the begging whispers of the wind, the imagined leap over the crags and cliffs. _I hear you_. 

Draco pulls Harry close and puts Harry's face between his hands, pulls their foreheads together. They do not need to speak. The ocean rushes into the shore, over and over, audible through the walls of the little house. It is singing, out there from the world, and Harry hears. 


End file.
